


Pourquoi j'men souviens?

by thebeholding



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Drabble, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Sort of... kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeholding/pseuds/thebeholding
Summary: “Seriously? We barely knew the guy. You weren’t like this when Angela died.”“You. You barely knew the guy Elliot.”
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot, Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Pourquoi j'men souviens?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in over two years, and I wrote it on the notes app on my phone while in the car. It's honestly not my best work but I'm not going to spend a bunch of time on a quick drabble I wrote on my phone.

Mr. Robot has been absent for a few days now. Elliot feels him lurking around, just out of reach, and whenever he tries to reach out to him, talk to him, summon him, or whatever the fuck his brain does when the two of them converse... it’s always rebuffed with a sharp push of anger and the distinct vibe of his particular brand of vitriolic “fuck off.”

He can almost hear him saying it, the bastard. 

After growing used to the presence of the other part of himself again, allowing himself to fall into the pattern of banter, bickering, or even stoic silent company, Elliot feels the absence more acutely than he had when they previously would give each other the silent treatment. Things had been... well. Good lately. As good as it could be anyways. He turns to talk to the man more often than he’d like to admit, only to find no one there. No snarky commentary, no annoying advice, no comforting squeezes on the shoulder. Nothing but Mr. Robot’s hollow anger sitting like an oppressive weight behind his own consciousness.

He tries everything to get him out after a week of continuous poking and rebuffing between them. He smokes cigarettes as he walks. He wears the stupid sunglasses and scarf the man always insists on wearing. He even drinks one of those fucking awful fruity alcoholic beverages that Mr. Robot liked to drink just to piss Elliot off. 

Finally, after continued radio silence, he sits on the pier at Coney Island, and just waits. 

“Listen, man. I get that things aren’t always great between us, and I’m not so good at this touchy feely shit. But whatever is going on, we gotta get over it. We have stuff to do. Just talk to me.”

For a moment, it really doesn’t seem like it will work. But after a pregnant pause, he hears an irritated sigh from beside him. 

“What.” 

Elliot turns to his counterpart, annoyance bubbling close to the surface. Mr. Robot fucks off for a week in the middle of their very time sensitive plans to sulk about who knows what, and that’s all he has to say? After all the times he’s berated Elliot about staying on task, and not getting distracted?

The wind whips between them, blowing the older man’s hair around- the hat he often wears to differentiate himself from Elliot’s father was conspicuously absent. He’s wearing sunglasses despite the overcast weather, and he looks rather small sitting there, shoulders hunched and face pinched in half realized upset. Elliot leans closer, noting the blotchy red on his cheeks and nose, the ruddy shade of his ears. And how the normally overbearing, more aggressive man refuses to look at him.

“Dude. Are you crying?”

Mr. Robot’s mouth twists into a scowl, and for a split moment, Elliot thinks the man is just going to leave again. In a panic, he snatches his alter’s wrist in a tight grip, and the man freezes, earlier anger melting away and leaving... yes. That is sadness on his face.

“Let go, Elliot. Can’t you let a guy deal with his shit in peace?”

Elliot’s father had never cried. Or at least, not in the embarrassed, subdued way Mr. Robot is now. Edward’s sadness always had the rotten, slimy feeling of manipulation to it, always some sort of guilt trip crocodile tear bullshit. But Mr. Robot- this is new. The man never really emotes anything other than his trademark choleric temperament and occasionally some good humor. He looks tired.

“It’s been a week, man. What’s going on.”

At least he isn’t trying to pull away from Elliot’s grip any longer. He relaxes into the hold, still looking away, but no longer trying to run. His other free hand rubs at his nose awkwardly, before he clears his throat.

“He’s fucking dead.” 

It takes a long moment for Elliot to even process who Mr. Robot was talking about. 

“Who? Tyrell?” 

Mr. Robot’s temper seems to flare. “Jesus. Yes, Elliot. Fucking Tyrell. God, I don’t know why I even bother with telling you shit sometimes.” He yanks his hand out of Elliot’s grip, moodily lighting a cigarette.

“Seriously? We barely knew the guy. You weren’t like this when Angela died.” 

“You. You barely knew the guy Elliot.” The anger is back, and Elliot’s almost thankful he doesn’t have to deal with mopey, sensitive Mr. Robot. At least this is something he is familiar with. The other man is angrily pointing at him, cigarette coming dangerously close to him from between Mr. Robot’s fingers. “Not everything is about you, dipshit. I let the guy-“ He deflates, and Elliot just watches him, eyes wide and mind blank. He can’t think of anything to say. 

The guy is clearly going through some shit. Elliot’s always been better at listening. Mr. Robot is the one who talks.

“Fuck, I let the guy fall in love with me kid. He fucking worshipped me. He thought we were..." He scrubs his face with his hands, looking away from Elliot again. “I dunno. Shit was complicated. I used him, he used me, we got dinner together. We punched each other, a few times. There was a lot of unresolved shit and now the moron is dead.”

Part of Elliot wants to be pissed that Mr. Robot used his body to seduce Tyrell, or do whatever weird nonsexual thing they did together, without his knowledge. But that part is so small under the sinking feeling he has watching Mr. Robot... grieve over someone Elliot had considered a stranger. 

“Um. I didn’t know that you guys," Elliot stumbles over a dozen platitudes he wants to offer, and a half dozen accusations.

“It wasn’t like that,” he huffs, but the earlier heat is gone. “It wasn’t anything. I don’t know why I even care. I’m not supposed to do this.”

“Dude, it’s ok to like-“

“I’m not fucking gay.” The man shoves him lightly, and Elliot teeters for one split second, mind flashing back to months ago when they had been in a similar position- only Mr. Robot had been some random crackhead stranger grilling him about his dad. Now he knew him as a part of himself, someone that Elliot was trying to comfort. 

“I just mean, it’s ok to care about shit. That’s all.” Elliot hugs his arms to himself, looking over Mr. Robot’s shoulder, then at his face, then back over his shoulder in quick succession.

Mr. Robot just stares, finally looking over the tinted lenses at the man he was created to protect- one that constantly surprised him, for better or worse. Elliot drove him absolutely batshit. 

Elliot’s gaze bounces back onto the man's face, noting his red, watery eyes and still flushed complexion. He looks so human. “It’s ok to be upset about stuff. You’re a person, man, you’re not some sort of computer program.”

The older man’s brow furrows, and Elliot could swear he sees something in his expression- he can’t quite identify what despite the fact that the man is literally a part of himself.

“Thanks.” Mr. Robot looks back over the ocean, quiet and still. Not at all full of the purposeful energy Elliot is used to seeing. Just a guy. 

They sit there for a long time, not speaking. When Mr. Robot eventually disappears again, Elliot can feel him in the background- that hollow, standoffish anger he was using to hide his grief gone- and he can feel his conflicted sadness. His confused feelings, and melancholy. And he can feel his love for Elliot. He wasn’t going anywhere. They had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the song I listened to while writing it, translated to 'Why do I remember them?' from Vacances de 87 (Carpenter Brut Remix) by Le Couleur


End file.
